


the taste of comfort

by undomesticatedmarshmallow



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Crimson Flower Route, you're safe though; it's very vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 14:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20913869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undomesticatedmarshmallow/pseuds/undomesticatedmarshmallow
Summary: dorothea muses over her relationship with two people whose affections are never put into words.(written for fe rarepair week 2019)





	the taste of comfort

**Author's Note:**

> day 2 - tea/coffee

Their silent affection assaults her senses.

Dorothea sees it in the way they touch, ever-so-rare and ever-so-little things that she barely catches out of the corner of her eye. A brush against a hand, the closeness of their bodies when they’re standing side-by-side, discussing something or another in hushed whispers. She hears it in the times Edelgard teases Hubert over something small and meaningless, the nearly soundless giggle in her voice as he gives her a look that only they understand. It’s the smell of coffee floating from the Emperor’s room, the taste of bergamot against Hubert’s lips when she catches him alone for a kiss.

It shows in the way they touch _her_, too, and that’s what ruins her the most.

Edelgard presses to Dorothea’s front, chest to chest with lips and tongues meeting in gentle conversation as Hubert hovers behind, providing an oddly comforting presence at the songstress’ back. His hands are precise, without the slightest error as he disrobes her and Edelgard follows the lowering of cloth seamlessly, without hesitation or question—without words, as though the two of them need nothing of the sort to communicate. Dorothea knows that to be untrue—they tend to be on different pages at times, still, even though they’ve gotten better as the years have passed—and yet they play such a convincing tune when they’re exploring her body and leaving her breathless through the combined assault.

Sometimes, it even feels like she’s a conduit of some sort, a steady channel of communication to bridge all the gaps in theirs. She doesn’t mind it. Perhaps if Edelgard’s kisses and Hubert’s touches were only reaching through her and to the other, she’d feel more like paper only meant for their private exchange. Perhaps if she lets her own self-doubt overtake her, she’d convince herself that she’s an unnecessary link in their chain; that nothing would be lost were she to leave them to each other and seek her comfort elsewhere instead. Perhaps, if things were like that, some nights would fill her with more guilt and less relief, even as Edelgard sleeps at her side.

But it isn’t like that at all.

She learns the separate languages that they speak, each one different from what Dorothea’s grown used to. The small smiles that Edelgard tries to hide behind her cup of tea whenever Dorothea compliments her reaches her eyes, and Dorothea’s heart flutters each time. Before each performance at the opera, there’s a gift from Hubert waiting for her in the changing rooms—sometimes flowers, sometimes a foreign candy that somehow always seems to match her tastes. Sometimes it’s rare, magic-infused honeyed water to protect her throat while she performs, and the warmth of the sentiment spreads across her chest, invigorating and grounding—like a hug almost, which marks a victory in her book, all things considered. It inspires her to do her best on stage, giving more than her all and solidifying each new performance as her best. Especially when they’re out in the audience, watching—sometimes together, sometimes separate, but nonetheless with a fondness in their eyes that Dorothea finds joy in, even though they believe they’re far more subtle than they truly are.

She remembers these things sometimes, when simply having a meal with the two of them. It pushes her into an endeared fit of giggles, and the muted confusion on Edelgard’s face next to the curious suspicion on Hubert’s only reminds Dorothea of the smaller victories in the world. Like finding a new favorite flavor of tea that isn’t all too different from what she’s used to.


End file.
